When Dr. Mathers leaves, I lie down in the bed next to Jessa. Her head falls naturally against my shoulder. I pull her limp, sweaty frame closer against my chest, wondering if this is the last time I’ll ever get to do this.
I don’t know how long we stay like that. Mathers said she would be back in thirty minutes, but I could swear hours or years have passed since she left and I still haven’t moved. I won’t move. I’ll stay here for as long as it takes.
And the whole time I’m there, I whisper to her.
“Listen to me, Jessa. I’m not a praying man, but right now, I wish I was. It would be so easy to rely on a higher power. But the only higher power I’ve ever known is myself. If I wanted something, I made it happen. If I was tired of something, I ended it. The power was absolute. And it was mine. And yet here I am, completely unable to protect the only two things that have ever truly meant anything to me. I know it’s only a matter of time before you wake up. I believe that with every fiber of my being. But when you do, will you want anything to do with me? Or will you try to disappear again?”
I sigh and stroke back a sweat-dampened lock of hair from her forehead.
“I don’t want her to force this choice on you, but if I have to, I will. Because you matter too much to me to ever let anything happen to you. You’re mine—at least until Marina’s swollen, purple corpse is dropped at my feet. You’re safe. You’re safe with me, for as long as you’ll let me keep you that way.”
I fall quiet. Just our breathing in sync. Our heartbeats in sync.
Our minds? Who the fuck knows about that.
I still don’t move, even when the feeling in my hand goes to pins and needles and then disappears altogether.
I still don’t move, even when the fear of losing my family is choking in my throat like poison.
I still don’t move.
Then Jessa does.
Her lip twitches. Parts. Opens. And even though her eyes don’t open, her words are clear.
“Anton,” she whispers.
Is she really saying my name or am I just hearing what I want to hear? She must be able to read my thoughts, because she says it again.
“Anton.”
“Jessa,” I whisper.
Her fingers tighten around mine and her eyes open. “Anton.”